Strange Things Happen on Spring Break with Rabbits
by PippinStrange
Summary: Thought Pippin was through with her adventures? Nope! A companion novel to the Narnia self-insert "Strange Things Happen in Libraries with Dr. Pepper", this tale will take you into a state park, down a rabbit hole, and into the world of Wonderland. R&R!
1. Spring Break

**Strange**** Things Happen o****n Spring Break ****with Rabbits**

**Thought Pippin was through with her adventures? You are wrong, my friends. A sequel, er, companion novel—if you will—to the Narnia self-insert "Strange Things Happen in Libraries with Dr. Pepper"… "Spring Break with Rabbits" will take you into a state park, down a rabbit hole, and into a whole new adventure with Pippin and the world of Wonderland.**

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**Chapter One, Spring Break**

_Oh, Spring Break, how I love thee._ With golden tresses from the sun, the green groves of oak trees throughout the campground, the balmy warm air blessing us with sprinkling rain from marshmallow clouds—it was a Pacific Northwest paradise.

But really.

Spring Break meant _no school_. Which is reason enough to "Throw my hands up and—SHOUT!"

What can I say about my sophomore year at Walden University? Nothing much, without ranting for pages and pages. What I needed was the time to throw ASIDE the pages, toss the school books upwards, and run like the dickens. It was time to get out of school. It was time to vacation my mind. I needed the fresh air on my face. I needed the wind in my hair. I needed tea… lots of tea. My own bed. My two adorable cats (one looks like a bobcat, the other looks like Toothless from How To Train Your Dragon) were awaiting to give me a snuggle.

Spring Break, for me, wasn't about heading for Mexico, or being so drunk you'd wake up at a strangers house and wonder why you were surrounded by plastic pink flamingos and wearing a green snuggie. It was about relaxation—er, well, so I thought.

Spring Break was meant to be an adventure. Ya know—they describe college as an adventure. I was feeling like Bilbo—too old for adventures. And I didn't have a pocket handkerchief, neither!

But right—the campground. It was more than just a campground. It was a state park. It had the tallest oak trees, the greenest grass, the biggest river, the longest dock, the craziest squirrels. It even had the little pioneer cabin with the wishing well. It was a normal state park times ten… GAZILLION.

Saying my last semester at Walden University was dramatic is an understatement. It felt like all the drama made me mentally ill. I was a ticking bomb waiting to explode on anyone that rubbed me the wrong way. I was backstabbed by close friends at random. And—oh wait, not going to rant!

But I'm sure a little background can cause you to understand the essence of the Great Outdoors beckoning me to _vacaaation _was stronger than ever before, and why this campground felt more like Heaven's national forest than a state park.

It was a family day. My parents, sister, brother, and I were exploring the park and all its little hidden nooks. We went through deep riverside paths that felt like jungle hideaways in Jurassic Park. We stopped at the wishing well—which was disappointedly about two feet deep. We stopped and ate lunch around the base of an obelisk, dedicated to those who helped begin the settlers town. We walked from the floating dock to a gravel road that led to an oak grove where people could play Frisbee golf.

That night, we were planning to see Alice in Wonderland, the new movie by Tim Burton and Disney. I'd read the book by Lewis Carroll and was an immediate fan. Lewis Carroll's whimsical way of writing made me feel like a cup of cocoa and a warm blanket in front of a fire. I liked it so much, I went to Powell's Bookstore and bought a copy of _Alice in Wonderland_ and its sequel, _Through the Looking Glass_—and I was already half-way through it. I've always had a bit of a history with the original animated Alice in Wonderland. It was my favorite movie as a kid, but I never owned it.

I loved Alice. She was like my twin in another land and time. She was silly. She talked to herself. She sang, she loved cats and rabbits, she made funny little rhymes and tried to solve riddles, but all of her logic turned upside down and sideways before making any sense. Most importantly, she always dreamed of a magical world.

I was a little obsessed, and I've certainly been accused of being obsessed. I wrote poetry inspired by it. I made a photo series (I like to dabble in photography every so often!) of me dressed as Alice, with miniature furniture, a fat Cheshire cat, and even a "drink me" bottle that I own. Laugh all you want, but something draws me to the story. And let me tell ya—it's not the hookah.

I was distracted by my excitement to see the movie, and missed many goings-on in the park. It was nearly six o'clock, and with the movie starting at seven, I worried that we were going to be late and I would miss the film.

Which is why, amongst my musings and thoughts, my worry of lateness was suddenly shoved aside in surprise when I heard my brother yell.

"Look!" he said, pointing off into the bushes. "A rabbit!"

I whirled and looked, and there was a brown rabbit staring at us with marble eyes and a twitching nose. With a shake of its tail and a bound, it turned and disappeared behind a bush.

"Be right back!" I squeaked, turning on my camera. "I want to get a picture!"

"Wow," said my sister dryly. "You are obsessed."

"I just want a picture," I called over my shoulder, rounding the bush, which was merely a tangent of a much larger blackberry bramble around 20 feet long and five feet high.

I circled around it, saw a flash of brown in the undergrowth, and went after it again—trying to keep my footsteps light so I wouldn't scare it. I wondered why my camera didn't seem to be cooperating with me anymore. Within a moment, I'd lost sight of the little rabbit. I got down on my hands and knees and looked into the bramble and saw a perfectly formed tunnel into the hedge of berry vines. I wondered, briefly, if this was going to be a strange spring break after all.

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**Hey fans! Thanks for tuning in to my new adventure. Let me know if I should continue—I really have no plot plans for this story. I'll have you know that this first chapter is entirely 100% true. The campground, the movie night, seeing the rabbit, chasing it, finding the tunnel… all of it really happened to me. That's mostly why I was inspired to write this story.**

**Plus I know you all have been very patiently waiting for a sequel to Strange Things Happen in Libraries with Dr. Pepper—but until Voyage of the Dawn Treader comes out, I only have the novel to work with, but I like to do movie elements too. (Or… maybe I just haven't gotten back to Narnia yet… hehehe) **

**Anyways, you all have been so patient—but eager—I thought it was time for some more Strange Things.**

**Please review!**

**PS: Oh yeah, I know it's kind of dumb and silly… but if you're interested, I did a cover of "In a World of My Own" from the animated Alice in Wonderland, and put it to the photos from my Alice shoot. If you're interested in watching… here's the link. (just take out the spaces) Haha. **

**http : / / www. youtube. com / watch?v=rIc2f_7SZpQ**


	2. Journey to the Center of the Earth

**Well hello Reviewers!**

**Ahhhh, it feels good to be back in the game. Still trying to update that darn Mary Sam story but my muse sailed away… trying to convince it back! Anywho, thank-you to LovinaHolmes and Locked In A Stony Tower (can I call you LIAST? Forgive me if I slip and call you Nightstarz again by accident… and I totally recognize you, haha. Welcome back to a Pip fic!) for being my first reviewers. Your reviews were so encouraging I thought I'd give another chapter a try! **

**~Pippin

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**PS: Aw, I'm glad I have your support even if the Dr. Pepper sequel turns into a Mary Sue. Hehehe. I don't know if I could do that to poor Edmund. However, there is no man of interest to me in THIS world… haha. **

**PPS: What if THIS story turned into a Mary Sue? How many of you would boycott me, call me names, turn my cat against me, banish me to exile with Kovu, and shave my head? And how many of you would chuckle and say, 'cool'?

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**Chapter Two, Journey to the Center of the Earth**

There it was, a perfect tunnel. Perfect for someone hobbit-sized like myself to crawl through on her hands and knees—and I really, really did want a picture of that rabbit.

The back of my mind accused me of crawling in merely because I was an Alice in Wonderland geek. The front of my mind was whispering, HURRY! You'll lose it!

So in I crawled.

At first, my hands were landing on old, soggy thorns that made me yelp. Most of them were pretty soft from the rainfall—it was sprinkling rain through the leaves over my head, actually. Eventually I was just crawling through slightly wet dirt and leaves, and went deeper into the bramble tunnel.

I was certain after about twenty feet, I should pop out on the other side where I had left my standing family. But it just kept going. I began to feel a little claustrophobic—there wasn't exactly enough from for me to turn around and go back—what if the bramble just went on and on, and I trapped in the labyrinth hedge forever? I'd die.

I'd die from being trapped in… bushes.

And I thought _magic doors thrusting me out of the second-story library walls into a parking lot_ was anticlimactic.

How ridiculously misled I had been!

I had been focused on the endless horizon point where the tunnel never ended, so I did not notice a big black hole full of nothingness appear directly in my path.

I tumbled right into it, hands, then my head, then the rest of me. I screamed one of those crazy guttural Hollywood's best screams and plunged into utter darkness.

But before I could even continue screaming, I came to an abrupt stop. I hadn't hit ground, but I was no longer falling. All my hair trailed downwards and my feet hung in the air, like I was doing a handstand.

I moved my hands out, and found my throwing them about—I could guide myself right side up. It was just like swimming—and I was practically floating!

So now I was ride side up, and still floating. I would think I was just hanging in place except that the hole I fell from, a tiny spot of light, was growing smaller and smaller.

"Descending," I said out loud, testing my narrator tone in the cave, tunnel, shaft, thing. It echoed eerily. I could see strange little shapes around me. I reached for one, found a string attached, and tugged on it.

A little floating lamp turned on. Its orange kerosene glow lit the downwards chamber, so I could see all the other little odd pieces of furniture.

"Ooh!" I squeaked. Sadly, anytime I'm excited and make that sound, everyone accuses me of being Snow White and then shakes their heads. So I coughed and adapted to my usual voice—which happened to sound remotely British. I knew my British accent was good—but was it going to stick? I had no problem sounding American while I was in Narnia.

"Curiouser and curiouser," I mused, just for quotes sake. Alice is notorious for little memorable quotes—and honestly, that was really the only one I was memorabling at the time. And I wanted to quote her.

"Wait," I said out loud, "Did I just think MEMORABLING?"

Lewis Carroll was getting to me. My words were all mixed up. Wonderland is a wickedly wild world where weird things woccured, and I wondered—if my words were wacky, what waylays me from forgetting my own name?

"I just thought in double-yous," I cried out loud, grimacing. I was getting much deeper—seriously deeper. I considered that this could even be a transition from Carroll to Jules Verne. I was going to be at Earth's Center and encounter ancient civilizations and dragon things.

JABBERWOCKEYS!

And I literally cannot believe MacWord did not put the little red incorrect squiggly line under the word JABBERWOCKEY. To quote cliché MyLifeIsAverages—at least they have their priorities strait.

I turned on a little tiny lamp—things were getting dark again. The orange lamp was far, far above me now. I saw a little bed, a little dresser, a little shelf with books on it (I grabbed a book) and a table with tea-things set out (I resisted the tea).

I opened the book, and the title page said

**sretnuH elahW gnihcramS ehT fO elaT ehT**

I debating about trying to swim upwards and end this ridiculousness right then and there. I slammed the book shut, and was JUST about to toss it down the shaft, when I realized I'd probably die of curiosity about what it meant.

Oh, another similarity between Alice and I? Curiosity. It's one of my most used words. One of my childhood nicknames? Curious George. (I loved being compared to a troublesome monkey—yup! Twas the cherry on my cake!)

So, of course, curiosity was what drove me to open the book back up, rereading the title about twenty-four times, before finally determining that it read _The Tale of the Smarching Whale Hunters_.

"Hm," I said. "Sounds kind of familiar." I put the book on a shelf as I floated by it. I looked around me and wondered why I was floating. Some girls fall like a person jumping off a building. Some floated down because their skirts acted as an umbrella. I was wearing shorts, my lucky black Chuck Taylor's high tops All-Stars Converse, and a gray sweatshirt. There was nuthin' floatable.

But floated I did—until I finally reached the bottom. As simple as a ballerina landing lightly on her feet, gravity put me gently on a tiled floor at the bottom of the tunnel. There was a paneled hallway leading away and around a corner.

With only a moment's hesitation, I went into the hallway and rounded the corner. _The center of the earth certainly is sophisticated, _I thought. Light blue wallpaper and oak wood panels, carpeted floor, paintings on the walls—weird.

Then I came to a very large room. There were many doors about the room, a glass table in the middle, and on the table was a bottle and a key.

"Oh, I know THIS ONE!" I said confidently, rushing up and grasping the bottle. In a second, shaking with the fear at what I had almost done—I put the bottle back down. I examined the doors around the room, but none suit what I remembered. Then I pulled back a curtain, and behind it, was a door about fifteen inches high. This was the one to Wonderland.

I wondered where the other doors went to, however.

Then I picked up the key, carried it in my fist to the little door, and pressed it into the keyhole. With a click, it unlocked, and I pulled the little door open. Then I pulled the little key back out and jammed it between the door and the doorframe so it wouldn't shut on me. _Oh, the cleverness of me, _I thought.

Now mind you, I'm a tiny person. But not quite tiny enough for the door. So, taking a deep breath, I marched back to the table and took up the bottle once more.

"Who says the rum is always gone?" I mused, sniffing it. It smelled like roast… _turkey? And butter? Wow. _

"DO I WANT TO BE ANY SHORTER?" I questioned loudly. I'd been teased and provoked all year about my height. What if I was stuck at ten inches and would never go back? I'd be a real dwarf and make it into the world book of records.

Sighing, almost feeling like crying big, flooding tears—but not quite—I sipped the bottle. It tasted like cherry poptarts and pineapple. I sipped a little more, and a little more. With every sip, the ceiling appeared to ease a little higher than it was before. The table seemed to grow up a little with every gulp.

When the bottle was empty, I was ten inches high, and read to step into Wonderland.

"Here goes nuthin'," I mumbled, stepping over to the door. I pulled it open with effort (it had grown much heavier!) and peered out.

What I found was a beautiful garden, alive with the hum of bugs, flowers, and hazy sun. A path was stretched out before me—and I suddenly felt the right size again, for everything seemed the right size according to me (with the exception of some tall flowers) and the path was just wide enough for my feet. The sky was a roly-poly blue and the clouds were a deep… cloudiness.

Then, there was a snap of a twig in the underbrush.

"OH GAWD," I wailed, "THE SNAPPING OF THE TWIG. Oooh, Ahh, that's how it always starts…" I went into Ian Malcolm mode. "But then there's the running, and the screaming…"

There was another crackle in the bushes, and I covered my eyes like a small child sneaking into the wrong kind of movie.

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**Thanks for positive feedback, guys! Review, review! When I started writing this chapter, I had 2 reviews. When I end this chapter, I have 3. So, welcome, Alexandraya, haha. Based on your suggestion, I definitely look forward to finishing Through the Looking-Glass. And I'm trying to make this slightly more book-based than movie based. It'll have a lot of my original input so it may seem like neither :)**


	3. Vertically Challenged

**Dear Reviewers,**

**Oh my! I should flee the wrath of those who don't like Mary Sue's. That basically means I would run away from myself. (tries to run away from myself) Hm, this isn't working. I know I'm such a little hypocrite, right? Haha. I hate Mary Sue's and yet I'm tempted to be one. ]**

**So we'll compromise. Like Scissorhero suggested, we find a balance. So my balance will be a little attraction, a little flirting, and a little friendship—and that's as far as I'll go. (And don't worry. It's not the Mad Hatter. No Girlfriend-De-Johnny Depp-Wannabe's HERE!)**

**So stick around, Jedithon, it may just be bearable! **

**With warmest regards, **

**Pip**

**PS: Alexandraya, I finished reading **_**Through the Looking Glass**_** today, and I totally agree. I prefer the beginning of "Alice" with the classic white rabbit and such, but the middle/climax of Looking Glass was so much more exciting!

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**Chapter Three, Vertically Challenged**

I peaked from behind my fingers just in time to see the bushes part, and a gigantic brown rabbit step onto the path.

"OH!" I squeaked again, sounding more like Snow White than ever. "I found you!" I glanced at my empty hands and realized, somewhere, I'd lost my camera. It must have been when I fell into the hole first off. I had it tightly in my fist, and when my hands met open space—surely I dropped it down the shaft and it shattered against the linoleum. _That's tragic._

"You did not find me, I found YOU," said the rabbit.

"No, I found you. Because I was looking for you," I said smugly.

"But that doesn't make me found. I'd have to be lost, in order to be found. But I was not lost—you're obviously lost. Therefore, I found YOU."

"Simple logic," I mumbled, cursing the day Spock made that word normal lingo for just anyone.

"Transparent logic," agreed the rabbit. "Well, now that you've been found, what do you intend to do?"

"I was hoping to take your picture."

"Why would you take my picture if I haven't got one? You can't take something I don't have. I'd actually NEED a picture in my paws to have it taken from me—if you want to take my picture, you'd have to give me one, for I haven't got the time to run that kind of errand. I'm quite ready now."

"For what?"

"For you to give me my picture, so that you may take it again."

I blinked once, then twice.

"So, where is my picture?" asked the giant brown rabbit.

"OH MY GOSH!" I screamed, stepping backwards. "A GIANT TALKING RABBIT!"

"A GIANT TALKING RABBIT? WHERE?" The rabbit bounded behind me and crouched there, trying to hide unsuccessfully. It was about six feet tall—I'm only five. I didn't provide any protection.

"Behind me," I chuckled.

The rabbit's whiskers twitched in fear. "Then… it must be… BEHIND ME?" With a cry of terror, it knocked me flat out on the ground, ran me over like an ostrich in a Persian lottery race, and disappeared.

I sat up, dirt on my face, my knees bruised and my palms scraped, looking much more worse for wear than I did crawling through berry vines.

"That was fun," I said out loud. I stood, brushed myself off, and continued down the path.

The trees and bushes alongside me were curious things. _Yes—I did just use the word curious—expect to hear it about twenty million more times before this adventure is over._

The trees looked like twisted, gnarly creatures made of bones and unhappy hags. The rhododendrons were limp and soggy looking. I glanced behind me, and saw that the incredibly gorgeous garden was literally only big enough to appear inviting through the keyhole of the door. If you looked through the keyhole, it was divine. Stepping into it was divine for a second—until you started down the path. Then it was like a rather dead wetland—minus the lakes and the mud.

In fact, thunder was beginning to rumble in the distance. I remembered that a queen would complain about thunderstorms for several days on end in _Through the Looking Glass. _The idea had occurred to me that Wonderland and the Land of the Looking Glass were two different places, but what if they weren't?

Um, contrariwise, would we ever really know, and would it make a difference? Probably not. So, the argument must be unimportant.

_The land is getting to me—I sound like I'm high! Er, I'm thinking like I'm high! Wait—I don't know what it's like to think while high. I don't think while I'm high. Oh, wait, I've never actually been high. Wait…_

"How long does this stupid path go for?" I demanded from the sky, stomping a foot. Straight ahead was just the path, the bushes, the trees. I could see no end.

Then I rounded the corner.

"A gate," says I

"I should go through it," I declared

"But what if there is danger on the other side?" I countered

"And what if I should die," I mused

"But what if it's the greatest adventure—awaiting me?" I finalized.

"Let's pretend the symptoms of multiple personality disorder did NOT just occur," I added for good measure.

Then I lifted the latch on the gate, laughing at how whacked out I was. _If this is me being my normal self, maybe I'll do just fine in this place after all._

On the other side of the gate, the land was slightly more pleasant and normal. The woods were very large, boasting of abnormal Technicolor, but other than that—the trees were green, there was yellow sunlight, and large mushrooms everywhere—so I was satisfied.

There was a break in the trees on my left, and I saw that the opening led down to a pebbly shore, the bank of a wide sea. Waves were clapping onto the rocks, washing up the sand, then rolling backwards again in a steady, pleasant rhythm. I went between the trees, slid down a small hill, and trotted onto the rocky beach. I glanced down my right and left, the shore was like any old lakeside, with corners and shrubbery and fallen logs.

"Hm," I said, noticing a bit of movement on the left. I walked down the sand a ways, tucking my hands in my pockets and whistling. When I was close enough, I could see I was observing a Caucus-race. I have no idea what a Caucus is, except that it was frustrating. Animals; like a mouse, a turtle, the large brown rabbit from before, a parrot, and more—were running around in circles, cheering and singing, and the sight was altogether dizzying.

Honestly, it looked like nothing that I would want to be involved in.

I turned back into the trees, found my path again, and continued as I had before. I wondered if Wonderland had any true geography to it—or if it changed depending on ones dream, ones imagination, or the ghosts of Carroll's writing.

I inhaled a deep breath of woodsy air, and then grimaced at the strange, sweet little smell that sifted in purple drifts through the trees. What very queer smoke it seemed to be.

I followed the smoke from the path, as it floated hazily away from the top of a large mushroom. On top of the mushroom was a huge Caterpillar smoking hookah.

"You know smoking is bad for you, right?" I said as I approached.

"I do not know," said the Caterpillar, taking a long draw from the hose. "That is very impolite, showing up at a time like this."

"At a time like what?"

"At a time when I am smoking," he replied, blowing a circle of smoke towards my face. I waved it aside and raised my eyebrows. The Caterpillar was blue, pointy-headed, and many-armed and legged. He lounged on the top of the mushroom with his hookah, clearly having never moved since the days of Alice.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I hardly know, sir!" I cried like Kathryn Beaumont, and then I laughed. "I am Pippin. And I'm feeling very short."

"You should not feel short when you are vert-i-cal-ly chal-lenged!" pronounced the Caterpillar concisely.

"But that's the same thing," I said.

"It is not. Pippin." He tried the name carefully. "No one has introduced themselves properly before."

"So—who are you?" I attempted.

"That is private."

"So you aren't very proper either," I added.

"So she says," said the Caterpillar.

"Who is she?"

"The little fair-haired child. You haven't seen her around, have you?"

"Alice? Why no. I think she is back home—with Dinah—that's her cat."

"CAT?" screamed a voice, farther in the forest. There was a clatter of china dishes, cries of suppression, and then silence.

"Shame," said the Caterpillar.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "So what was that sound earlier?"

The Caterpillar blew another ring of smoke and heaved a deep sigh. Then he sighed again. Then he blew a second ring. Then he inhaled, exhaled, inhaled—and then let out another long, tired sigh.

"Clearly I am getting nowhere," I sighed too.

"You cannot get nowhere," said the Caterpillar, "Everything is somewhere. There is no nowhere. So you can't get there. THAT—is a falsehood!"

"These conversations give me a MIGRAINE!" I snapped. "Stupid, stupid, stupid conversations OVER AND OVER. Why, for the love of Aslan, did I want to come here in the first place? It's RIDICULOUS!" I turned and began to stomp away.

"WAIT!" cried the Caterpillar. "I have something important to say!"

I turned and trotted back, planted my feet, and put my fists on my hips. _Yes, I do stand like Peter Pan regularly. Ask anyone._

"What?" I asked coolly.

"Keep your temper," he said.

"GAH!" I threw my hands in the air. "I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN! Why did I fall for that!"

"It's the mushroom," said the Caterpillar, leaning forward as if sharing a great secret. "One will make you go up, and one, will go down."

"One what?"

"One side."

"One side of the mushroom," I clarified. I looked at it and hummed, thinking. I ripped two pieces—one off the left, one of the right, and held them in both hands. It felt creamy and spongy in my hands, not at all like REAL fungi. It felt more like cake—vanilla cake.

"It may help with your vertical challenge," said the Caterpillar.

I bit into the left one, and felt the forest grow larger around me. The mushroom cakes were nearing the sizes of wedding cakes. Before I could get any smaller, I bit into the right one, and shot up in the air. My head smacked branches and broke them, I was stretching higher and higher like someone had lit rockets under my feet. I looked down at the Caterpillar, at the path, and at the trees around me, and determined I was about nine feet tall. That's not so bad, at least I wasn't towered over the entire forest.

I gave both cakes a lick, and my height lowered until I was seeing eye-to-eye with a rather normal looking person.

"Hullo," said the person.

"Hello," I said, tucking the mushrooms in my pockets. "How do you do?"

"Very well, thank-you," said the person. "Having growing pains, are we?"

"Not particularly, thanks to the Caterpillar."

The person looked past me, where the Caterpillar—thick as a snake and as long as a lizard (undoubtedly the FATTEST caterpillar I'd ever seen!) sat on his mushroom, enjoying his hookah.

"Bravo, Absalom," said the person, "For helping another unfortunate human."

"Bravery has nothing to do with it," said the Caterpillar.

"Very well, then," the person turned to me again. He held out a hand. "What's your name?"

"Pippin," I said, shaking his hand, which was moist and kind of slimy. "What's yours?"

"I'm a footman, for the Duchess," he replied, grinning. His smile was wide and toothless. His eyes were buggy and watery. There were little gills at his chin.

"The fish footman?" I asked.

"I am no fish," he said, offended.

"I only meant…" I tried.

"TALK TO THE HAND!" The fish footman threw himself on the ground and crawled away into the woods.

"Sorry," I called after him, but of no avail. He was the only slightly normal thing I'd met until I realized he looked like a fish and had no nose.

"Everything seems completely pointless," I complained. "Is there anyone here that isn't so superficial and argumentative?" I turned, said thank-you down to the Caterpillar, who huffed with disapproval, and then continued on my way.

When I went around a bend, I could smell cookies. And coffee. And sugary pastries. I could smell bread, butter, and… tea!

"Hellooooo!" said a chorus of voices, seated around a table in the middle of a clearing. "It's about time you showed up!"

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**I am having a ridiculous amount of fun with this. Review, review, m'dears!**


	4. Welcome to the Tea Party

**Dear Reviewers,**

**THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR FEEDBACK! The End. **

**Regards,**

**Pippin

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**Chapter Four, Welcome to the Tea Party**

There was a table in the clearing before me. At the table sat the Mad Hatter and the March Hare, smiling and waving me over. The March Hare looked like he had fleas, and the Mad Hatter looked slightly hysterical. Oddly enough, if the makeup artists of Disney had left the white skin, the pink lipstick, and the eye-shadow off Johnny Depp's face, it may have looked closer to this character.

"Um, hey!" I greeted, waving and approaching the table. The table was disastrous. The food stayed on their serving plates well enough, but tea was spilt all over and half-full teacups (and teacups with dust in them) lay about everywhere. The tablecloth was a crazy quilt of stray sugar cubes, tea-stains, discarded tea-bags, dripping spoons, and ever so much more.

"Who is this GHASTLY character?" sniffed the March Hare disdainfully. "You are NOT who I thought you were."

"You see, we're on the lookout," the Mad Hatter explained, "And he doesn't take kindly to being mistaken."

"So who did you think I was?" I asked.

They leaned forward secretively and whispered in unison, "Alice!"

"My hair is brown," I said, twirling a lock awkwardly.

"From far away, colors are of NO IMPORTANCE," said the Mad Hatter, adjusting his bow tie. "You may have very well have been Alice when you were in the woods."

"Imposter," whispered the March Hare evilly.

"I am not an imposter," I snapped, "I'm simply me. And back to my normal height."

"Yes, yes, usually Wonderland visitors aren't half so lucky," said the Mad Hatter. "But you are not Alice?"

"I am not Alice."

"Such a pity," mused the March Hare.

"May I sit down now?" I asked tiredly. "I've been waiting for you to invite me but I'm short of patience today."

"Sit sit sit sit sit," urged the Mad Hatter. "Tea?"

"Yes, please," I said.

"Blast it, WHY aren't you Alice?" asked the March Hare.

"Shut up, let the girl enjoy her tea," said the Mad Hatter.

I raised my eyebrows. "You haven't given me any tea yet."

"Well then you can't very well enjoy it if you don't have it," said the Mad Hatter comfortingly. "So—why is a raven like a writing desk?"

I stole a cookie from a plate and munched on it before answering. "Why," I said, quite British-ly. "Because Edgar Allen Poe wrote on both!"

There was an imploding silence blooming from the open mouths of the March Hare and the Mad Hatter.

It was Johnny—er, Hatter, who spoke first. "Girl," he said, "Did you just answer my riddle?"

"SHE DID! SHE DID!" squealed the March Hare indignantly. "OF ALL THE NERVE!"

"Tell me, how did you do it? We've been pondering it for years!" The Mad Hatter stood from his chair, came 'round the table, and knelt by my armrest. "Tell me?" he pleaded again.

"Uh, well, you see, there's a famous poet," I said. "His name is Edgar Allen Poe. He used a writing desk to write his poems. And he also wrote a poem about a raven…"

The Mad Hatter's shoulders sagged. "Alas," he moaned, "You really had me for a moment there."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "That's the only answer I know."

"Poe didn't write ON a raven, he just wrote about it!" Hatter wailed. "Therefore your answer is invalid."

"No it's not," I argued, "A writing desk and a raven both have Poe in common. So it still works."

The Mad Hatter brightened instantly. "Why, she's got it! By the devil, I never thought I'd live to see this moment. Tea, little girl? Oh DO say yes!"

"Yes, yes," I said, frustrated.

The March Hare licked a spoon creepily, eyeing me from across the table. The Mad Hatter took the seat between us, the head of the table, poured me a cup of tea, and handed it across.

It spilled a little, but it was real, steaming tea. I never thought I'd manage to have real sustenance among all this craziness. I put a droplet of sugar in, a dab of cream, and sipped happily.

"I think we've tamed the creature," the Hare suggested quietly.

"Well, she tamed my riddle," countered the Hatter. "So tell me, little girl, who ARE you?"

"Especially since you are NOT Alice," accused the Hare.

"I'm Pippin," I said, noticing a tiny peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I took it off its plate, noted that the bread was fresh and the berries were recently jammed (hey. It pays to be a farm-girl sometimes).

I munched the sandwich happily. The Hare's eyes bulged with offense, and the Mad Hatter smiled gleefully at how I was enjoying the tea party.

"Like it?" said the Hatter. "That's jam from England, you know."

I stopped eating and glanced at him. "How did you get jam from England?"

He leaned close, beckoning me to follow suite. I leaned in, and he whispered, giggling, "Through the Looking-Glass!"

"Oh reaaaally," I replied.

"Oh YES," he laughed, leaning back again. "Alice worries for our well-being, sets things on her mantel, and shoves them through for us. We have a little delivery service. The mice go and pick them up for us. Don't you?"

He directed this to a teapot. "You like your job, huh, Dormouse?"

A sleepy voice came from inside the teapot. "Indeed, indeed."

"Are you sure Alice sends you things?" I questioned.

"No doubt of it!" the Hatter cried. "You see," he explained, "The little lady has been here thrice. Her first time, she was nearly beheaded by the ridiculous Queen of Hearts. Her second time, she was entrusted to help play a game of chess—now naturally I was unable to see her at this time, I was too busy at the Hatters Unite Conference. Anyhow, she was crowned Queen of the game—she won, you see—and she abruptly disappeared at supper. It was rather rude, but I found it in my heart to forgive her. I wasn't there, you see. And the third visit—oh ho ho, the THIRD!"

"What's so special about the third?" I pressed.

"Frabjous Day," whispered the Hatter, then he erupted into chortles. His hair seemed to stand on end, and he tipped his hat without having seemed to use his hand for it.

"I don't understand," I said.

"We brought Alice back for her third visit—it was prophesied SHE was to defeat the Jabberwocky and bring balance to Underland again!"

"So… this land is… balanced?" I mumbled, trying to keep my ironic laughter to myself. "Why did you call it Underland?"

"Because it's under us, silly," chuckled the Mad Hatter, sipping his own tea.

"It's called Wonderland," I corrected.

The Mad Hatter looked up, grin frozen, like a clown who hates birthday parties. "Wonderland."

"Yes, Wonderland."

"Wonderland?"

"That's what I said," I repeated.

"That IS what she said," said the March Hare.

I snorted. _It didn't quite work._

"Ah!" gasped the Mad Hatter, realization dawning on him. "Wonderland!"

I slurped my tea, not bothering to answer. I just nodded, cheeks full, obligingly.

"So do we kill her now, or later?" said the March Hare suddenly.

The Mad Hatter glanced at him. "So chew me spiller pow, more traitor?"

"So moody drill per sow, door grater?" asked the March Hare.

"So droopy dill grrr tow, drawer dater?" asked the Mad Hatter.

"Why are you both repeating incoherent words that rhyme with the phrase 'do we kill her now or later'?" I asked, annoyed.

"I'm trying to cover up the fact that he asked that question," whispered the Mad Hatter. The Hare couldn't hear him and glared angrily at our shared confidence. "He's so gullible, he hopped right into it. Oh-ho! HOPPED! He's a hare, and he hopped. Haha, oh, how clever of me."

"You med a funnyyyy," I drawled in a Jamaican accent. "What a good joke, man."

They both looked at me as if I had lobsters crawling out of my ears.

"Cookie?" I offered, holding up a plate. They both complied, pouting. As they bit into the cookies, they forgot their sour attitude, and both began congratulating me on the fabulousness of my cooking skills, and how they were forever indebted to me for curing their hunger. Even the March Hare forgot he had wanted to kill me.

"So, I guess I should be moving on now," I said presently.

"Oh, but why? The party is just beginning," smiled the Mad Hatter.

"But I feel I must continue," I said. "I think Wonderland is a place where you start, and keep going until you reach the end. When you reach the end, you wake up, and your trip to Wonderland is over, see?"

"I do not see any point in that," snarled the Hare. "Why continue when you've found a good place to stop?"

"Because your company is NOT NICE," I pointed at him. "You've threatened me, and quite frankly, annoyed me."

The Hare pulled one of his long ears down and nibbled on the end of it angrily.

"But what if we never see you again, little Pippin?" said the Hatter, looking as if he were about to cry.

"You'll probably forget all about ME," I assured him flippantly.

"I never forget a name and a face!" gasped the Hatter. "Imagine my years of practice, holding out till Frabjous Day, till Alice's return?"

"I apologize, I thought you were much more forgetful than that," I pushed away from the table and stood. "I don't know if you'll ever see me again, honestly."

"Well may I walk with you a moment?" asked the Hatter.

"I don't see why not," I shrugged. "But Bugs Bunny stays behind."

"Hare, STAY!" commanded the Hatter, standing and joining my side.

The March Hare directed two fingers towards his eyes, then pointed at me, as if to say _I'll be watching you!_

I pretended to brush off my shoulder nonchalantly and turned away, following the Mad Hatter towards the edge of the clearing.

"To tell you the truth, something has gone wrong, Pippin," said the Mad Hatter. "We don't get deliveries from Alice anymore."

"Maybe her house caught on fire," I suggested, sympathetic. "Or she moved to a new one."

The Mad Hatter was instantly relieved. "I KNEW you'd have an explanation!"

_Why can't anyone here be REASONABLE? _My mind screamed. _Everything here is so infuriating._

"So where are you going to go?" asked the Hatter.

"Down that path, I suppose," I pointed it out.

"Well, watch out for the Bandersnatch, don't except purple nickels, put your best foot forward—and always, above all else, KEEP AN EYE ON THE TIME." The Hatter took off his hat and held it to his heart. "I will miss you greatly."

"Really?" I asked, rather touched.

"Of course! You're the only friend I've ever had smart enough to answer my riddle!"

"Well, it's only fair to tell you that some people think there IS no answer," I said. "It's really my…opinion. Yeah. And to be more fair, Alice is an intelligent girl. There may have not been an answer in her time."

"How kind of you to say so," said the Mad Hatter. "I bet she'd agree, too!"

I shrugged, and smiled at him.

"So, off you go!" coaxed the Mad Hatter, putting a hand on my shoulder and giving me a friendly shove. "Don't let me keep you from your adventures."

I walked away a few feet, and then turned back for a moment. "You've…" I hesitated, pondering the correct Carroll-era vocabulary. "You've been a brick!"

The Hatter took off his hat and waved it in the air. "You're welcome to the tea party anytime!"

I waved back, smiling at him. Humming Kerli's creepy "Welcome to the Tea Party" song, I put a little skip in my step, and headed into the forest once more.

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**Phew, long chapter :) Reviews for a cherry on top?**


	5. In Which Pippin Interrupts a Chess Game

**Dear Reviewers:**

**Questions? Send 'em in. I respond to almost every review. My answers are located at the end of the chapter!**

**Enjoy this latest installment, and thanks for sticking around!**

**Sincerely and with highest regards,**

**Pippin**

PS: in anyone is interested, I redid my profile. All new hilarious quotes from me (and my school pals & family) and I updated my "News" section.

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**Chapter Five, In Which Pippin Interrupts A Chess Game**

As soon as I was out of sight, I let my shoulders slump. Poor Hatter! He did seem like a really friendly sort, and I would've loved it if he came with me just so I wouldn't be alone. It'd be kind of nice to journey in a strange land with a new friend. But I couldn't make him leave his tea party.

But I realized that I'd arrived in the middle of Wonderland during a very average timeframe. There was nothing adventurous or disastrous happening, really. I wasn't going to help save the land, and there was no one to rescue. But yet I had a nagging feeling that if I disrupted too much, I may just destroy a plot or something.

_Burton? Carroll? Disney? I can't keep track of whose storylines are at stake here. I can only hope that, as I meander through this trippy world, I don't tip off some sort of ridiculous time warp or alternate universe by moving the pawns. _

The forest began to grow darker. It started looking a little creepier. The trees look twisted and winding, like they fold in on themselves as the light disappears. The leaves hide the sunshine—or what little sunshine there is now. The air seems misty, green, smoky, and a little dizzy.

Or maybe I was the one that was dizzy?

The leaves and flowers around me were obnoxiously large. I felt like I was traversing Jurassic Park. Any moment now, something would jump out of the bushes, I'd whisper, "Clever girl," and then it would be all over.

I didn't like how dark the forest-jungle-thing seemed. I half made up my mind to turn back, and ask the Hatter where I could find the Looking Glass House instead.

As I thought about doubling back, a shadow suddenly stood not twenty feet before me on the path. My heart nearly jumped into my throat and choked me. A dog was facing me in the distance, standing squarely over the path, and eyeing me with baggy eyes.

"Hello doggy," I said shakily, so frightened at its subtle appearance that my knees quaked. It was like a freaking dog ninja.

"Hmph," said the dog, leaning forward. It's giant bearded face, like a sheepdog—or a schnauzer—hid most of its features, but I could only guess that it could talk—it made a rather human-esque noise. It inclined its head forward, and using its sheepdog beard like a broom, began to sweep away the path as if it were made of makeup powder.

"NO! BAD DOG!" I found myself screeching unexpectedly. "I need this path! Don't you dare!"

The dog looked at me, glared, and then continued. It swept all the way towards my feet, went around me, and continued to sweep behind me. I stood in a single square patch of dirt, and that was all that was left of the path.

"DOG," I commanded, "SIT!"

The dog continued to sweep, then it disappeared into the woods.

"Is this the part where I cry and sing a song?" I said out loud, looking both ways in into the thick trees. I made up my mind to follow the dog—it'd lead me back to the clearing where the tea party was.

I turned to follow where the dog has disappeared to and ran face-first into a tree. First a tree, then all I could see were the branches overhead. _Mm, hello ground. We meet again. _

I sat up, groaning. _That tree hadn't been there a second ago! No! The place is going all Mirkwood on me. _

I examined the tree that seemed to have suddenly sprung up in my path. I went around it, and the land behind it looked completely unfamiliar. The trees were bigger, bulkier, and more entwined. Crawling through like a jungle gym was my option at this point.

So I continued on the direction I had been going before. After a few moments of eerie silence, save a few crickets and a few whistling breezes high in the treetops, I came to a break in the trees.

There was a simple clearing in front of me, hemmed in by a wrought tree wall on all sides—save for the opening I looked through, and another opening at the other side of the clearing. That opening was more of an arch into a wall of forest, with a little blue light pouring through. A way out of this ridiculous labyrinth, I hoped.

I stepped into the clearing, feeling a boost of confidence bloom in my fear. I'm not afraid of the dark, trust me—but a big black forest with magic trees and reminders of Jurassic Park did nothing for my courage.

I sat down for a moment, taking a little breather. There was a log in the middle of the clearing, and I sat against it in the shadow, hugging my knees and concentrating on not overreacting.

_If I'm dreaming, I can just wake up,_ I reminded myself. _But… I'm not really dreaming. You have to fall asleep in order to dream._

The log wasn't exactly comfortable, but I was in no hurry to leave the clearing. The sky was open above me, and I could see a dim, dark twilight. The clouds looked rainy but weren't letting it out yet, so the air felt fresh without being wet. I took deep breaths and pondered the fact that I felt rather stuck—where was I to go from here? Was there any purpose in being in Wonderland at all, except to live my current literature passion?

"Bother," I said, beginning to stand.

Suddenly, bushes at the clearings' edge snapped and parted. Screaming, I fell back down again in shock. A man dressed in red armor, riding on a red horse, stepped through the forest wall and gazed across the clearing at me.

He adjusted his large helmet awkwardly, urged his horse forward, and began walking it towards me.

I stood again, brushing myself off. The amount of falling I do, both in real life and in adventures, are as numerous as they are inconvenient.

"You are my prisoner," said the red knight.

"No I'm not," I said.

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"You are a pawn. I am a knight. So you are my prisoner."

"Oh," I said, noticing I wasn't arguing with a knight made like a card from a deck. It wasn't a knight of the evil Queen of Hearts—it was a red knight from the game of chess!

"But I'm not playing this game," I explained. "I'm just a distant traveler."

"But a prisoner shall heighten my favor with the Royal Highnesses," said the knight, "Regardless if you play."

"So you are going to—cough—attempt to take me prisoner," I chuckled inwardly.

"That's about right," said the knight, promptly falling off his horse. He stumbled to his knees, hoisted himself up, drew a sword, and pointed it in my general direction.

"Funny," I said, unimpressed. "You can't even stand up. You're not really a real knight, are ya, hon?"

The knight suddenly invaded my bubble and held the sword up to my chin. "But," I added hastily, "You're blade is very much real and I do not doubt it's… lethal existence. P-please, um, yeah, don't push any harder than what you are d-doing right this minute."

"That's better," said the knight, quite obviously using the echo within his helmet to make himself appear more menacing that he really was. "And you would do well to remember it."

"Sure," I mumbled. "Can you stop poking me with it now?"

The knight lessened his pressure with the blade, so it just hovered in my general neck vicinity. I will confess something right now to my dear readers—what is Pippin's greatest fear in the entire world?

A cut on the neck.

And what could Pippin's greatest pet peeve in all the world be, you ask?

Anything that could cause a cut within inches of her neck.

My mind went on a very convenient tangent, which was more of a flashback, in which a friend of mine jokingly swiped his ID card "across" my neck—and—let's just say my reaction (the very typical screaming and falling backwards, I kid you not) caused him to laugh—silently and red-faced—for about five minutes. Without breathing.

Flash forward to the fact that a sword is within inches of my esophagus and it is no laughing matter.

"I promise I won't run away," I said, desperate. "Put your sword down? Please?" The knight shrugged. "No like, seriously, if you don't move that, I'll have a mental breakdown. Well OK I won't but something like that."

The knight cocked his head quizzically.

"Good sir," I attempted, "I shall be the most respectable, responsive, willing prisoner any knight has ever seen before. It is a manner of honor that you treat this prisoner, since I am a Lady, with decent boundaries—and my first request as your Lady prisoner is that your sword is kept at your side, and I swear on your good Red Queen's crown that I'll not try to break free."

No reply.

"And I spit upon the future grave of the white knight, whom you should properly defeat at some point in your life," I added for good measure.

The red knight put back his sword and sighed. "You drive a hard bargain, prisoner," he huffed. "I guess I'll go along with your demands for now."

"Thank-you, kind sir," I let out a long breath and put my hands up to my neck protectively. Surely some people can relate to fingernails on chalkboard, the smell of fresh tar, animal droppings that reek so badly your mouth feels funny, the sounds of Justin's voice repeated "Baby, baby, baby, oooh…" And perhaps now you can understand my feeling.

"Let the girl go!" cried a voice. A white horse crashed into the clearing and a white knight tumbled off its back and brandished a sword. "This is MY fight!"

"Wicked white knight," snarled the red, "My greatest opponent has arrived at last. And to what? To steal my prisoner and my glory?"

"Nay! To save the lady you have captured!" announced the white knight, marching towards us. I stepped backward over the log and crouched behind it, not wanting to get in the middle of something that could leave me dead—or worse, nicked in the neck.

"Have at thee," growled the red, lifting his heavy sword. The knights clumsily bashed into each other, hardly keeping their balance. They reeled back and fell again, swinging their swords wildly. Somehow in moments, however, they reached some kind of pattern. They were at it hammer and tongs now, fighting clashing banging roaring yelling clanging…

The part of me that was feeling tingly inside, the part giggling, "Ooh, the white knight comes to rescue you… that's exciting… ooh la la…" is suppressed as I recall that Alice was rescued by the same knight, and he proved to be a bit of a madman like everyone else. Plus the illustrations made him like—fifty. Eew. And I'm not any more special than she is, he probably rescues, flirts, and sings to all the girls he meets.

Suddenly, the fight was over. The knights shook hands and the red knight jumped onto his horse, tipped his helmet, and galloped into the trees.

"Fair maiden, I have rescued you from the captivation of the red knight," said the white, walking crookedly towards me.

"Thank-you," I replied dryly, unsure of how Shakespearian I should sound. "May I know the name of my rescuer?"

"The White Knight," he said grandly.

"That's all?"

"Must there be more?" he asked, confusedly.

"Can I call you… Knightly?" I asked, wanting to make this easier on myself for the sake of names and for the sake of writing down the tale later. Plus, I've always liked Mr. Knightly from Jane Austen's "Emma". What a charming friend he was.

"Why, certainly," said Knightly. "And may I know your name, Lady?"

"Pippin," I grinned.

"Lady Pippin," said Knightly, removing his helmet. My mouth fell open with surprise. A tousled blond head of helmet hair appeared, followed by an average—possibly nerdy—face, brown eyes, and a crooked—but charming and unassuming—grin.

This Knight was not fifty years old.

_Shoot me now, _I thought.

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**Ooooh, the plot thickens! Can I keep the temptations of being a ridiculous Mary-Sue-Self-Insert at bay? Will Knightly manage to keep a conversation without falling on his head in the ditches, or will he prove to be a decent conversationalist? **

**I guess ya'll have to review before you can find out. Muahaha.**

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**REVIEWER REPLIES**

**LIAST: bahah I know I totally found my spelling error AFTER I published it, and it severely bothered me. Haha. I went to the lengths to review my own chapter to remind myself of my mistake, teehee. I do not place the blame on my macword spellcheck, however. I am horrendous with catching misspellings. **

**Mezzanote: Aw thank-you so much! I am glad you liked my video! **

**Scissorshero: Naw I bet you'd do great in Wonderland! :)**

**Eavis: There are multiple answers to Carroll's riddle, so yours is certainly usable as well! Carroll never actually created an answer himself, and when people always asked him what the answer was, he grew quite bewildered because he never thought it'd matter haha. Just shows how humble he was about how his writing would affect people! **


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